


sometimes it gets lost in translation

by nightlighttuesdays



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Best Friends, Castiel Has a Crush on Dean, Fluff, High School, High School Student Castiel, High School Student Dean, M/M, Movie Night, Mutual Pining, New Kid Castiel, Pining, Russian Castiel, Sam is a nerd, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, a huge ass crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:05:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3215216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightlighttuesdays/pseuds/nightlighttuesdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Cas becomes Dean's go-to for dirty words in Russian and eventually, they start to get a hint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. this is how it starts

Castiel is a novel idea. He knows that’s why everyone stares him down in the hallway, why whispers of “new kid from Russia” follow him in every class. The Russian bit isn't even true - at least, not anymore, not since he’s considered himself a real American for the past 10+ years now. But senior year of high school, Dad gets a new job, and suddenly the Novak family is uprooted to the middle of Kansas and Castiel has to deal with the snide comments all over again, just like he did when they first moved from St. Petersburg. He’d been 6 then, though, and it hadn’t been so much curious stares and interested smiles as abrupt questions by the swingset about why he can’t speak English right and do his parents know he’s too stupid for school? So, yeah, he thinks 18 year old Cas is better equipped to handle New Kid Syndrome than 6 year old Cas.

Even so, he doesn’t like it.

Cas sits alone at lunch, mostly because he doesn’t want to answer questions about the ‘Mother Russia’ he hasn’t seen in 12 years. A few girls slow down as they’re walking by his table, but the way he’s glaring at his milk carton is just about as off-putting as he’d hoped. It’s not the milk’s fault, not really, not when he’s pissed at his dad and not when he’s only looking to make it through this school year with the grades he needs for Stanford, but the milk gets his fury anyway.

“Man, you might wanna cool it on the lasers. I think the cardboard’s starting to melt.”

Cas’ head jerks up to see a smiling, freckled guy sitting across from him, his green eyes friendly and bright.

“Unless you do want it to spontaneously combust, which is fine, but I think a match’ll do it faster.”

“Um.”

“I’m Dean,” he says, with a half-wave. Castiel thinks he’s hallucinating.

“Castiel.”

“Nice to meet you, man. You wanna talk about how much moving sucks?”

“Um?”

“Or not. We can sit in silence, too.”

Dean makes it about thirty seconds before, “I used to move around all the time, but we’ve been here for almost 2 years now and it’s not a shitty place all the time.”

Castiel has a sudden need to make sure Dean doesn’t expect a new country from him. “I’m from Illinois,” he says, and Dean smiles.

“Is it shitty there?”

Cas frowns. “No, it’s...” he thinks about the endless miles of nothing, cold nothing, that almost reminded him of rural Russia, and the two or three friends he’d managed to accumulate over the years, “It’s alright.”

“You miss it, then?”

“A little,” Cas says, and he can’t drag his eyes away from Dean’s. “There wasn’t much there, though, and people didn’t really know what to do with a Russian kid.”

“How long’d it take you to lose the accent?” Dean asks, his voice pitched lower.

Nobody’s ever asked Cas that before. It should have been years - hell, he should still have it now, but he’d worked his ass off to sound normal, to fit in, and over the course of a summer, he’d stopped making v’s of his w’s and lost the ee’s in his i’s. “Not long. A few months when I was 8 or 9. Sometimes it comes out when I’m angry.”

Dean grins, all white teeth and crinkled eyes, and says, “I guess I’ll just have to wait to see you pissed.”

That was Cas’ first inkling that maybe this year wouldn’t have to be a self-imposed, school-enforced hell.

After lunch, Dean walks Cas to class - AP Physics II, which Dean already had earlier in the day, but he “wants to make sure Cas doesn’t sneak off and try to fry more milk with his eyes.” Cas tries to tell him he’s not a pyromaniac, but Dean just laughs and says that Cyclops is one of his favorite X-men (which Castiel cannot for the life of him understand).

Before Cas heads in, Dean stops him with a hand on his elbow. “Wait, Cas.” There’s suddenly a paper being shoved into Castiel’s hand. “I know you’re going to pretend you lost it the first few times, but can we skip the Bruce Wayne for now and you just text me tonight?”

Cas looks into Dean’s earnest eyes and thinks maybe, maybe he won’t throw it out (because that’s exactly what he’d been planning to do) and maybe Dean’ll still be around when Cas isn’t such a novel idea anymore. He's silent but for the soft smile he gives Dean as he steps into the room.

Kansas isn’t as awful as he’d expected.

……..

Cas, in a surprising moment of fortitude, ‘loses’ Dean’s number once (it’s sitting on his desk at home), but when the first thing Dean says the next day is “I should’ve made you pinky promise,” Cas resolves to text him and text him he does, under the table at lunch.  Dean jumps when his phone vibrates in his pocket, the subsequent smile that grows as he reads ‘hi’ from an unrecognized number reflected on Cas' face.

"You wanna go out Friday?" Dean asks suddenly, picking at his fries. "My friends and I usually go to this restaurant place and get milkshakes and shit. You should come."

Castiel ignores the swoop of disappointment in his gut - of course Dean has friends, of course they’re much more interesting than Cas; and he knows that he'll be pushed to the side of whatever group Dean's accumulated, because that's just how it works.

But the way Dean is looking at him is hopeful and there’s something in his eyes that makes Cas feel like to say no would be to break something.

“I don’t have a car,” Cas says instead.

“I’ll pick you up,” Dean says quickly. “Just text me your address and I’ll be there. Seven?”

And then Cas can’t say no anymore and it’s almost a relief that he doesn’t have to make up another excuse, so instead he nods and hides a smile.

They talk then, swapping childhood stories (Cas almost chokes on a carrot stick when Dean recounts the time he and his younger brother leaped off the roof of their shed because they wanted to be superheroes) and favorite bands (Dean seems impressed when Cas mentions Led Zeppelin) and when Dean walks him to physics again, Cas lingers outside with him.

“What class do you have next?”

“English. It’s kind of a bullshit class, but whatever.”

“You don’t like it?” Cas has always loved the subject. He’s already read most of the books they’ll be dissecting, but that just means he has an excuse to read them again.

Dean shrugs. “I mean, I don’t hate it. Just don’t get why the rose bush has to mean something, I guess. Why can’t it just be a rose bush?”

Cas smiles. “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“Have you heard of Sigmund Freud?”

Dean’s laughter is a sudden, hearty bark. “Don’t fucking get me started on Freud, man.”  He takes a short step backward. “I should probably get going,” he says slowly, his eyes still on Castiel. “I’ll talk to you later, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean only makes it a few feet before the bell rings and -”ah, fuck”- and then Dean is hightailing it around the corner. Cas ducks into the physics room and tries not to feel terribly, terribly guilty about making Dean late for class.

He fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three parter? possibly?


	2. this is how it grows

On his way out of school, Cas catches sight of Dean standing at his locker, talking to a red-haired girl. She's pounding a closed fist against his chest repeatedly, almost like she's using the beats to enunciate a point. Eventually, Dean turns away from her, rolling his eyes, and that's when he notices Cas.

"Hey, man!" Dean yells over the clamor of students ready to leave. "C'mere-" the rest of what he says gets drowned out by a particularly enthusiastic squeal nearby, but Cas follows the beckoning hand and crosses to Dean and the girl.

"This is Charlie," Dean says, pointing to the girl. "Charlie, Cas."

Castiel realises then that Dean's been calling him Cas this whole time, unbidden. Cas likes it.

"You're pretty dreamy, Cas," she says, and he only realises after she's let go of him that they’re shaking hands.

"Um...thanks?"

"Sure thing, buddy!"

"Are you two..." Cas, unsure of what he's asking, how to ask it, raises his hand and brings his index and middle fingers together.

Dean stares blankly at him for the longest time. Cas repeats the movement again for Dean's benefit.

Dean, when he finally gets it, nearly bends over backwards from how hard he's laughing. "Oh, man, that's great. No, we aren't."

Charlie puts up her hand with a crooked grin. "Hella gay right here."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"See, Dean, even Cas is trying to get you married off."

Dean glares at her, his ears turning red. He turns to Cas with a sigh. "There's practically an after school club for trying to set me up with people. Fucking weird is what it is, but they won't let up."

Castiel hitches his backpack higher on his shoulder with a smile. Dean's consternation expresses itself through a pouty lower lip and narrowed eyes and Cas finds it mildly endearing.

"There's still time," Cas says, grinning as he turns to go.

"Dammit, not you too, Cas!" Dean's shout carries over all the noise and leaves Cas with a warmth in his chest the whole bus ride home.

 

.........

 

"Are you sure this looks okay?" Cas turns around again, staring at the mirror and the way the jeans hug his ass. "They seem very...tight."

His brother heaves an enormous sigh and pushes himself away from the wall he'd been leaning against.

"Trust me, bro. Broski. Broseph. Bromeo. Broshizzle. Bruh." With every mangling of the English language, he takes a step towards the door. He's halfway down the hall when he yells, "YOUR ASS LOOKS FUCKING PERFECT."

"GABRIEL, DON'T USE THAT LANGUAGE IN THIS HOUSE!" Castiel's mother shouts from downstairs.

Cas facepalms. For all his advice, Gabe didn't seem to have been able to do anything but squeeze Cas into the tightest pair of jeans he owns and a dark blue v-neck that Cas is nearly positive is not his own, but it's nearly seven and Cas doesn't have any better ideas. By the time he's gathered some spare dollar bills and pulled on his boots, it _is_ seven and Dean's texting " _here_ " a minute later.

"I'm going out now," he says loudly, hand on the doorknob.

"Be safe!"

"I will, Mom. I'll be back later."

He bounds down his porch stairs, only to be stopped dead by the sight in his driveway. Dean is leaning, almost posing, against the biggest boat of a car Castiel has ever seen.

"Wow," Cas breathes when he sees it, huge and angular and shiny and old and _gorgeous_.

"You like her?" Dean asks, his smile flashing in the dusk as he straightens up. He's wearing a soft-looking flannel shirt over worn in jeans, looking much more comfortable than Cas feels (but Cas is almost satisfied with the knowledge that his ass does look pretty great and for a second, he thinks Dean's eyes dip below his waist as he turns to walk to the passenger side door).

"It's beautiful," Cas says, his hand hovering over the glossy paint job. "How old is it?"

Dean is actually beaming as he swings the door open. Cas follows his lead and they sit in near synchronization, the leather of the bench seat exhaling softly as they sink into it.

"She's a '67 Chevy Impala," Dean says as he starts the engine. It rumbles to life like a lion, purring deep along Cas' bones. He can say with complete honesty that before this moment, he has never been aroused by a car; but something about these loud pistons and hot rods has him thinking about his grandmother naked, because he doesn't think these pants have the capacity for any more tightness.

Cas blinks. "Very old, then."

"She used to be my dad's," Dean says, pulling out of Cas' driveway, "but now I get to drive her around." Dean's lips curve upward in a split-second smile before he's leaning forward, fiddling with something on the dash.

"You okay with music?"

"I'm very okay with music, Dean."

It's the Eagles, Take It Easy, and Castiel disapproves of how Dean turns the volume down before the song can start. Cas turns it back up so he can feel both the car and the song in every beat of his heart.

Dean shoots him an incredulous glance. "Did you just touch another man's stereo system?"

"I like this song," Cas says defensively.

Dean just shakes his head, a wry grin spreading across his face. "It's a good thing I like you, man."

Cas glows.

Their destination ends up about ten minutes from Cas' house, a ten minutes spent listening to Dean’s cassette companionably. Hotel California is only halfway through by the time they roll into a space at the Roadhouse, so Dean leaves the car running until the song ends. Cas gets the feeling this is something Dean does a lot, like he can't bear to leave a tune unfinished.

"Arright, let's go," Dean says finally, turning off the car. "Charlie's getting a little impatient." He waves his phone, lit up with 3 new messages.

"You're gonna love everyone, man." Cas falls into step beside Dean as they head into the 'restaurant', which Castiel can now see would be better called a bar. "They can be a little much sometimes, but don't worry. We can leave whenever you want to," he says. Cas thinks some of his apprehension must have leaked onto his face because Dean's patting his arm now, keeping a light touch on Cas' elbow as they weave through the tables and chairs to the back of the room.

"I'll be fine, Dean, thank you for your concern." Even if the night does go terribly, Cas would hate to inconvenience Dean by cutting his time with his friends short. Perhaps he should have begged Gabe for a ride.

Dean pauses Cas for a moment and peers into his eyes, then shrugs, apparently satisfied that Cas isn't freaking out. "Offer still stands. Don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

Cas shakes his head, but there's a smile on his face that won't seem to go away.

"Sup, bitches," Dean says as they come to stand in front of a corner booth with six others already waiting.

Dean's hand is still on Cas' arm, warm and (Cas hates to say it) comforting.

There's a grumble of hello's, but everyone's eyes are on Castiel.

"Hello," he says awkwardly, raising a hand in a half-wave.  

Charlie waves back, her grin enormous. "Dean, aren't you going to introduce your-"

Dean cuts her off with a cough. "Right. This is Cas. Cas, you know Charlie already. Um, that's Benny," he says, pointing to a kid built like a football player, solid across the shoulders. "Ash," mullet and a rock and roll sign, "Chuck," with possibly the deepest under eye circles Cas has ever seen, "Jo," who throws a peace sign and a mischievous grin Cas' way, "and Kev."

"Kev _in_ ," says the Asian guy to Jo's left. "Two syllables. Kevin. Keh-vin." He directs his exasperated gaze to Cas. "Call me Kevin. Please."

Dean shoots Kevin a death glare.

"He has this weird habit of nicknaming everyone," Jo says.

"I'm guessin' your name ain't just Cas?" Benny asks.

Cas smiles. "Castiel, but. I like Cas, too." He meets Dean's eyes for a moment, just to let Dean know Cas is on his side. Dean grins back.

"Okay, now that we've all taken a shit on Dean," Dean sends a mock-angry glance around the table, "Move the fuck in so we can sit." Cas is fairly sure the only reason they comply is because Cas is still a stranger.

Cas is sitting on the end, smushed against Dean's side to avoid falling out of the booth. Dean, Cas has decided, smells very nice and feels very warm.

“So, Cas, where ya from?” Ash asks, pleasantly enough.

“Pontiac, Illinois,” Cas says. “It was a very small town.”

“When did you move from Russ - ow!” Charlie reaches across Benny to hit Ash in the stomach.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about Russia, you asshat.”

Cas smiles at Charlie, mentally thanking her, then looks back to Ash. “It’s okay, I just don’t remember very much. I was only six when we moved.” If talking about Russia here will keep him in the conversation, then that's what he'll do.

Dean settles an arm on the back of the seat behind Cas. He imagines being cramped between Charlie and himself must leave Dean with very little arm room, so he doesn’t mind so much when Dean's fingers barely rest in the meeting place of his shoulder and neck.

"So I'm guessing you never got to see Putin carousing through the streets on the back of a bear?" Chuck looks disappointed.

Cas frowns. "I'm not sure I..." Chuck thrusts his phone at Cas. On the screen is a clearly photoshopped picture of Vladimir Putin, who appears to have mounted a grizzly bear. "Oh. Well, not firsthand, of course."

The rest of the table laughs,  but all Cas can really hear is the way Dean snorts in amusement, inches from his ear.

The conversation meanders then, to Benny's latest culinary masterpiece, to Chuck's psychotic girlfriend, to Kevin's upcoming 'fuckton of tests,' to Jo's new woodworking project, to Ash's pending suspension (for a baking soda volcano?). Dean doesn't say much, content to watch and let his fingers twitch along Castiel's neck every so often. Somewhere in the midst of it all, Cas is passed a thick chocolate milkshake that he doesn't recollect ordering. He sips at it while the others are talking; occasionally one of them will pause and drop a backstory for Cas, or Dean will share little annotations in the margins of their speech. Cas appreciates it more than he could possibly express.

"You kids gonna want some food, or you just taking up space?"

Cas turns at the drawl to see a woman with sharp eyes and tucked back brown hair staring their table down. The lines around her mouth give her smile away before it can even appear, a smile that softens her face exponentially.

"We can't let the place make too much money," Dean says with a grin. "Gotta keep you on your toes."

The woman reaches around Cas and smacks Dean, albeit lightly, upside the head.

When he makes a noise in protest, she raises her eyebrow. "Just keepin' you on your toes, boy."

A short laugh escapes Cas at that, drawing the attention of the woman.

"You're a new one," she says, not unkindly.

He straightens up. "I'm Castiel Novak. I'm, um, a..." His eyes flicker to Dean. Are they friends? It's only been a few days, and he doesn't want to presume -

"We're friends," Dean interjects on Cas' behalf.

Cas smiles, first at Dean, his friend, then back to the woman. "I just moved here," he says, by way of explanation.

She nods slowly, her gaze bouncing back and forth between Dean and Cas. "Well, Cas, you can call me Ellen. That rowdy one belongs to me," she says, pointing to Jo, "and this here's my fine establishment."

"This is a very good milkshake," Cas says in the silent moment that follows.

Ellen chuckles and claps his shoulder. "He's a keeper, Dean."

Cas watches Dean's face turn an interesting shade of red and wonders what exactly Ellen means by that. "Yeah, yeah, just get me a bacon burger-"

"Double the bacon, double the fries," the whole table recites with him. He sends a murderous glare around.

"Every single time," Charlie says, shaking her head sadly.  "Never so much as a pickle out of place."

"I've never had a bacon burger," Cas says.

Dean reverses the movement he’s making towards sinking under the table and pops back up, his eyes wide. "Make it two."

The rest of the table groans.

"Don't let him corrupt your eating habits," Kevin says. "He thinks pizza counts as as vegetable."

"I do not," Dean responds, indignant. "Tomatoes are fruit."

Eventually, Ellen gathers all their orders and disappears for another twenty minutes, leaving Cas to smile at the side of Dean's face. He really is enjoying this, he realises. Dean's friends are a quirky bunch that shouldn't fit together but do, and Cas can almost feel them making room for him.

When the food comes out, Dean waits to see Cas' reaction to the skyscraper of a sandwich set before him. By double the bacon, they really meant _double the bacon_ , the already entirely sufficient stack of bacon.

He's not about to be beat by a burger, of all things. He nearly has to dislocate his jaw to fit his mouth around the burger, but fit it he does.

“Oh,” he says, as he tastes the almost overwhelmingly savory combination of flavors. It’s good, _really_ good, and his throat betrays him in the soft sound of content that he makes. Dean is still studying him, his face flushing bright red. “I like it,” Cas says when his mouth is empty. “I can feel the impending cardiac arrest, but I think it’s worth it.”

Dean snorts and looks away, down at his own burger. Cas watches now, watches the way Dean’s fingers squish the buns to a more manageable size, the way his mouth widens around the meat, the way his throat works to swallow it down. Cas averts his eyes, returning to his food. Jo smirks at him from across the table and he can feel the blood rising in his cheeks.

It isn’t like Dean is overtly sexual in his burger-eating; no, he looks like a chipmunk, stuffing so much food into his mouth that his eyes are nearly bugging out.

No, Cas is not thinking about Dean swallowing his dick, no matter how hard his hormones are trying to make the connection. The problem is that in that moment, Castiel’s eyes choose to recognise Dean’s beauty. Perhaps it’s the realisation that even with his cheeks bulging and the occasional flash of half-chewed food inside his mouth, Dean is gorgeous. Cas doesn’t know. He’s staring again.

So is the rest of the table, actually. Chuck’s eyes keep darting between Cas and Dean, his lips forming silent words. Eventually he takes out his phone and starts typing furiously.

“He’s got a new idea,” Dean mutters to Cas, following his gaze.

“Why does he keep looking at us?” Cas whispers back.

Dean frowns. “He’s probably just … awh, shit. Chuck, you writing about me again?”

Chuck looks up furtively. “No?”

After a moment’s stern gaze from Dean, he sighs, taps a few buttons, and turns the phone around, showing a blank Google doc. “Happy? I deleted it.”

Dean rolls his eyes but returns to his burger and Cas follows suit after a few moments.

“He likes to write about us,” Kevin explains. He doesn’t seem terribly perturbed. “He has, like, this whole world where we kill monsters. It’s kinda cool, actually.”

“Not when you get killed off,” Ash grumbles.

“Hey, man, someone had to go,” Chuck says, unapologetic in the slightest.

The banter continues well past ten, bracketed by the arrival of dessert. Cas orders a slice of rich chocolate cake that he really does want, until he sees Dean’s apple pie, served a la mode. It looks so much more appealing than the black print of the dessert menu made it seem and Cas realises he hasn’t had apple pie in _years_.

“You want some?”

Dean’s voice startles Cas. He realises he’s practically been drooling over Dean’s pie and looks away.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, I was just-”

“Dude, just try some. It’s the best apple pie you’ll ever have.” The other conversations around the table grind to a halt as Dean shoves his plate in front of Cas. “Just go for it, man.”

Cas doesn’t need too much convincing. He swaps plates with Dean before taking a fork to work and meeting the godliest pie he’s ever encountered. He’s beginning to think that he can trust Dean’s opinion on food, because the pie is perfect.

“Was I right or what?” There’s a grin on Dean’s face as they trade plates back.

“I think I’ll have to come back for the pie alone,” Cas says. The chocolate tastes good around Dean’s fork marks, but the pie has it beat. The pie has everything beat.

“Not for the company?” Charlie asks, peering around Dean’s shoulder.

Cas shrugs, a tiny smile on his face. “If the company will have me.”

Unanimous consensus around the table suggests that yes, the company will have him and in turn, Cas assures them that he’ll be back.

They disband a short time later, everyone leaving enough bills to cover their own food. Dean and Cas are the last to pull out of the parking lot.

Cas settles into the seat, feeling warm and full and content like never before.

“Thank you, Dean,” he says suddenly, his voice fading into the music. Cas needs him to understand how grateful he is for a friend here.

Dean’s eyes meet Cas’ in the near-dark. “You had fun, then?” He sounds so unsure of himself, like he’d been expecting Cas to demand an early ride home the entire time.

“Of course,” Cas says earnestly. “I liked meeting your friends and eating your pie.”

A soft dusting of pink spreads across Dean’s face and neck, visible only in the light of passing streetlamps. “That’s good, then.”

After a moment: “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Can you teach me some Russian?”

Cas pauses. He’s lived this one before and it never lasts. When they get bored with the language, they get bored with the guy; but Cas gets the feeling Dean’s different. After all, he’s never been taken out to dinner for his linguistic talent alone before.

“What do you want to know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i too am wondering where the russian is


	3. this is how it lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to go with the English sounds for the Russian words so hopefully it makes sense - HOVER TEXT btws just hover your cursor over the Russian and you'll get the English translation.

It happens about a month later, in the same seats they were in the first time they went to the Roadhouse.

Ash says something stupid about Dean's love life, nothing more than a joke that Dean - for the most part - takes in stride.

But instead of cursing Ash out goodnaturedly in his own tongue, Dean turns to Cas, his arm settled on the seat behind Cas like it has a habit of doing, and he says, "Hey, Cas, what's 'fuck you' in Russian?"

And Cas, like a fool, like a goddamn fool, thinks it would be funny to say 'ya tebya lyublyu' instead of 'idi nah hooy', thinks it would be funny to hear them throwing around 'I love you' instead of 'fuck you.' And maybe somewhere in his mind, where he still pretends he doesn't have a heart-numbing crush on Dean, it was an outlet of sorts, a confession Dean would never have to understand.

It's stupid, but when Dean immediately turns and repeats it to Ash, Cas feels a tiny thrill in his stomach. Dean doesn't know. Cas doesn't say anything, just smiles and laughs with the rest of them.

It's his secret, and when Dean asks later exactly how it flows between languages, Cas shrugs and says that some of it's just lost in translation.

He is never telling Dean.

....

"Privyet!"

Cas looks up to find Dean draped over his locker door, a smile directed downward.

"Privyet, Dean," he responds, straightening his back.

"Kak dela?"

Cas hides a grin at Dean's almost mediocre pronunciation. Cas thinks Dean's hyper aware that it sounds like cock.

"Ochen harasho," Cas replies. "A ty?"

Dean's smile expands. "Ya shastliv."

"Pochemu?"

Dean's head cocks to the side in concentration. "Again?"

"Pochemu," Cas repeats, slower.

"Oh!" Dean's eyes light up in understanding. "Pochemu. Right. Um. Well, I dunno how to say this part in Russian, so." He pauses, waiting for Cas to acquiesce a return to English. "The AMC's playing a Star Wars marathon tonight and I get to introduce you to a fuckin' cinematic masterpiece, my friend."

They've gone out nearly every Friday since they met; most nights, it's to the Roadhouse; once to a party for all of ten minutes before Dean took pity on Cas and they ditched for an ice cream parlor; throw in a few movies and you've got the best months of Cas' life.

"I've never seen Star Wars," Cas says, closing his locker.

Dean nods excitedly. "I know, that's why this is gonna be awesome!"

"What time?" Cas says as they fall into step on the way to first period. He's already thinking about the horrors of going through his closet, dealing with Gabe's insistently unhelpful presence.

"Well," Dean's shoulder bumps Cas' every few steps, "I was thinking you could just come back to my place until until the movie starts."

"Your house?" Cas echoes. He's never been to Dean's house before.

"Yeah. If that's cool? It'll save gas, and Pops is a real hardass lately about it."

Cas nods so vigorously he thinks he might have shaken a molar loose somewhere in his gums. "I'd like that."

"It's kinda messy, so don't expect too much," Dean says.  

"That's exactly what I would have expected," Cas says, and it's the truth, but Dean frowns playfully.

"Aw, ya tebya lyublyu, Cas," he says, bouncing off of Cas' arm a little harder this time.

"Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu," Cas replies automatically.

Dean always thinks it's hilarious that Cas responds to 'fuck you' with 'fuck you, too' every single time. Cas always thinks it's funny that Dean has no clue what Cas is doing to himself. Very funny.

The day passes much too slowly for Cas' liking, but eventually the final bell rings and Cas finds himself waiting impatiently at Dean's locker.

"Yo, Clark, what's up?"

Cas spins to find Charlie standing behind him, her mouth struggling against the grin that's trying to form.

"Dean's taking me home today," Cas says. He regrets it as soon as Charlie starts giggling. "We're going to his house," he tries to remedy it, but she laughs harder. "And the movies," he adds. She gets in a few last chuckles before quieting.

"Dean mentioned something about Star Wars," she says. "You're gonna have an awesome time."

"You're not coming?" Cas had assumed it was to be a group affair, but now? He's never been to the movies alone with Dean before.

Charlie shakes her head. "I think Dean wanted to be the one to pop your Star Wars cherry. Solo. Han Solo." Cas fights the blush rising in his cheeks, but it only deepens when he sees Dean approaching. "Anyway," she continues brightly, "have fun!" She slaps Dean on the back as they pass in the hallway.

"Hola, señor!”

Dean’s last class of the day is Spanish and he always comes out rolling his r's. Castiel finds that he likes the sound of Spanish on Dean’s tongue just as much as - maybe more than - the way Dean speaks Russian.

“Hello, Dean.”

“You ready to go?” Dean asks as he shifts things around in his locker, pulling out a binder, returning a book.

Cas nods. “I just have to call my mother and let her know I won’t be coming home.”

“Ah, yes,” Dean snorts, “Nerdy little bus rider.” Cas contemplates sticking out his tongue, but Dean's already closing his locker and starting to walk away and Cas has to rush to catch up.

"D'you wanna grab a pizza on the way home?"

Cas pauses, his mind suddenly traveling to his wallet, left on top of his dresser. "I don't have any money with me."

Dean waves it away. "Dude, it's fine. My treat tonight."

Cas ignores the soft nudge that this is a date, this is a date, _this is what people do when they're dating_ but it's not a date, he knows, because he's only projecting his out of hand crush onto Dean's every action. He's kept it a secret this long, but the way his nerves burn when Dean's hand brushes his in the hallways, or the way his heart pounds when Dean leans in too close at the Roadhouse, or the way he sees Dean when he closes his eyes at night; Dean's tearing him apart without even knowing.

"You okay, Cas?"

Cas realises abruptly that he's been staring wistfully at the side of Dean's face, for as long as it took them to walk to the Impala.

"Sorry, I just - I'm very hungry," he says. Dean doesn't believe it for a second, Cas knows, because Dean's learned that when Cas gets hungry, he gets punchy, not moony. He doesn't say anything about it.

Cas calls home from the front seat, hoping that he's audible over the engine.

"Hi, mom... I won't be home until late tonight. Dean's taking me to see Star Wars."

"Possibly tomorrow morning," Dean mutters. Cas squints at him, unsure of what that means, but Dean studiously avoids his glance.

"Are you boys dating yet?"

Cas almost chokes. "No, mom, we're just-" he suddenly becomes very aware that Dean's eyes are slipping curiously to Cas every other second. "I have to go. Ya tebya lyublyu."

"Have fun, Castiel. Stay safe. Ya tozhe, ptichka." Cas hangs up after she does, finally turning back to Dean.

Dean looks like he's having trouble focusing on the road; his eyes are wide, his eyebrows nearly brushing his hair.

"Dude," he finally breaks, "did you just say 'fuck you' to your mom?"

Cas blankly returns Dean's horrified gaze for a long moment, and then he realises his mistake.

"Oh! No, no, I didn't - I, um, I - it's...it's sort of a term of endearment for my family. We are very laidback," Cas says, though it couldn't be farther from the truth.

Dean looks slightly more comfortable, though. "Okay. Man, I dunno, if I said that to my parents, I'd get grounded for thirty years."

"Well," Cas says slowly, "It's not really as bad in Russia. It's hard to explain." What's not hard to explain is how desperately Cas wants Dean to know that he's not the kind of person that goes around saying 'fuck you' to mothers or, for that matter, anyone.

And so when Dean relaxes, Cas doesn't, because he's starting to feel the weight of this lie across his chest and there's no way he can ever lift it off without knocking Dean out of his life.

"I'll take your word for it," Dean says, a smile returning to his face. Cas echoes it shakily.

They stop in a Pizza Hut and lean on the counter until their two pizzas (one cheese, one Meat Lover's Supreme) come out of the oven. Cas gets to hold them on his lap, the steam sinking through his jeans and heating his legs.

The drive to Dean's house is pleasant that way, warm and comfortable and set to a backing track of Boston. Dean tells Cas about his day ("...got to blow shit up in chem finally, some kid got his eyebrows burnt...started reading Vonnegut today, I actually like it...thought about you in Spanish today, some kid was bragging about being bilingual but Russian's cooler than French so you win"), and then Cas explains why his brother must be lacking a frontal lobe because why else would he think it would be a good idea to turn all of Cas' furniture upside down and fill all his shoes with flavored sugar? Dean laughs but agrees that something must be done about Gabe and then, they pull into a driveway.

The house is small, white, soft around the edges. It looks peaceful, ringed in winter-emptied flower beds.

Dean jumps out first, darting around the car to open Cas' door and grab the pizzas.

"I'm so hungry, man, c'mon."

Cas follows Dean into the house, slipping off his shoes at the front mat as Dean does.

"Nobody's home yet," Dean says by way of explanation as they traverse the silent house. The Winchester home is clean - lived in, but clearly well taken care of. Several stacks of books cover one end of the dining table they pass, reflected in a wall of picture frames - a much younger Dean, an arm around a smaller boy; a dark haired man and a blonde woman, looking for all the world to be fully in love; different combinations, the same smiles.

At some point Dean realises Cas is lingering and doubles back. "You can come back and look at my baby pictures later but seriously, Cas, I'm fucking starving."

Cas allows himself to be dragged away, trying to ignore the tingles that radiate outward from Dean's grip on his wrist.

Upstairs and around the corner they go, where Dean pulls Cas into a room so fully the opposite of what Cas had been expecting that he almost wonders if it's Dean's little brother's.

The walls are painted a soft grey, lit by the glow of the afternoon sun. A bookshelf stands against the far wall, any true organization precluded by the sheer quantity of books jammed onto the shelves. Cas is surprised to note that the floor is, for the most part, clean, with only a few stray shirts and papers piled in the corner.

Dean's already propping himself up against his bed, legs stretched out around the pizza boxes. Cas settles down beside him, taking in the Led Zeppelin and AC/DC tour posters as he goes.

"Cheese or meat?" Dean asks, completely oblivious to Cas' curious eyes.

Cas goes with meat, only because he's never had so many varieties on one pizza before.

They finish the two pies off over the next hour, every two or three bites interrupted by a long conversation. The cheese is getting cold by the last slices, probably because they've been talking more than eating towards the end, but Cas doesn't mind so much. Spending time with Dean is always fun, and Cas certainly can't find any problem in the way his hand keeps finding its way to Cas' knee when he leans forward for another slice.

The marathon starts at 6:00, Dean says, so they head downstairs to the living room to watch TV (Cas thinks it's counterintuitive when they're about to leave for the movies, but he doesn't say anything).

Halfway through an episode of Friends, the front door bangs open.

"Dean?" The voice is young and boyish, followed swiftly by the appearance of a shaggy head of hair and dimples.

"Sup, Sammy," Dean says, raising a hand in half-greeting.

"Hello," Cas says, prompted by Sam's interested gaze.

"You must be Cas. Dean talks about you all the time," Sam says, rolling his eyes. "I'm Sam."

Cas smiles. "Dean also speaks incessantly of you."

Dean is avoiding looking at either of them, so he misses the smug glance Cas and Sam share.

"Well, I'm gonna go do homework," Sam says, after a few seconds of silence.

Dean snorts. "Code for texting the girlfriend."

Cas finds that Sam blushes as fiercely as Dean does when embarrassed. "We’re not even dating,” Sam mutters, shuffling his feet.

“That’s even sadder.”

Sam sticks out his tongue. “Jerk.”

“Bitch. Go do your homework.”

“Whatever. Nice to meet you, Cas.” Sam barely sticks around to see Cas’ wave before he’s gone, thudding up the stairs.

“He’s a fuckin’ nerd,” Dean says, but the smile on his face betrays his fondness. “Kinda like you, actually.”

Cas meets his gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Says the AP student with a Star Wars obsession.”

“I’m - I’m not a nerd, you’re a nerd,” Dean sputters.

Cas shakes his head. “What makes me more of a nerd than you?”

Dean pauses for a long moment, thinking. “The trenchcoat,” he says abruptly. “The tax accountant trenchcoat.” Cas squints at him. It’s just a jacket, really, he’d never given it much thought. “And - and the bilingual thing.”

“You like when I speak Russian,” Cas retorts. Sometimes Dean will even ask Cas just to talk to him, knowing full well he won’t understand it, because it “sounds cool.”

Dean concedes first this point; and then he seems to realise that he has no other points.

“Fuck, I can’t explain it,” he says, putting his head in his hands. “It’s just the vibe, man. You give off the nerd-vibe.”

Cas can’t really argue against vibes.

“What vibe do I give you?” Dean asks, almost too casually. “Like, the first time we met.”

_Sunshine in the forest, a chocolate milkshake in the dusk, beautiful eyes and a beautiful soul, stretched leather against your back, fingers on your neck, the stars on the clearest night, soft skin in a warm bed, love love love._

“I don’t know. You were very nice to me.”

Dean pouts. “Nice? I give off the nice vibe?”

“Um.” Cas doesn’t know what else to say. “I thought you’d get bored with me,” is what escapes his mouth instead of something witty and biting.

Dean stills. “I wouldn’t have,” he says, eyes boring into Cas. Cas doesn’t flinch, no matter how embarrassed he’s feeling. “I won’t. You’re - I mean, we’re friends, right? I like you, man, I’m not leaving until you want me to.”

Cas blinks hard, swallowing the urge he has to fling himself into Dean’s lap and hold him until kingdom come. “I don’t want you to.”

Dean starts nodding then, and once he starts, it appears that he can’t stop. “Good. Good.”

They don’t break eye contact, then, not for what Cas feels is a very, very long time. And if he thinks that the distance between them seems to be shrinking, then he stills his body and the slow tug of war it's losing towards Dean. The moment breaks when Dean notices the time on the clock on the wall and jumps upright.

“Shit, we gotta go.”

They breeze out of the house, taking a slight detour to the pantry so Dean can load his pockets with Skittles packets and Snickers bars. As they’re getting into the car, another car rolls into the driveway beside them. Cas recognizes the driver as the woman in the pictures - Dean’s mother. Dean rolls down the window as she exits her car and approaches the Impala.

“Hey mom, me and Cas are heading to the movies,” Dean says.

She leans into the window to peer in. “Nice to meet you, Cas! I’ve heard a lot about you.” Cas smiles. He can see so much of Mary in Dean - the glow, the sunny smile that she’s shooting him.

Dean groans. “Mom, c’mon, we gotta go.”

She purses her lips at him, but the smile shines through. “Have a nice night, boys.” She steps away from the car and waves at them as they pull away.

They make it to the theater a few minutes before 6. Dean buys two buckets of popcorn right off the bat - “so we don’t have to get up for a while.” They’ve eaten nearly half of one before they’re ten minutes into the first movie.

There’s only about ten other people in the theater, and Dean and Cas sit in the front. The only thing that’s separating them now is the armrest, but Cas can still feel Dean’s comforting warmth down his side and after a while, the warmth loops around his shoulders, too. Dean seems unable to keep his arm at his side - it starts out resting on the back of Cas’ seat, but over the course of the second movie, it makes its way down to touch Cas. He’s not about to argue.

In the break between the second and third movie, Cas realises that he never asked Dean one very important question.

“How many movies are they showing tonight, exactly?”

“Six,” Dean says, rattling around the empty kernels in the bottom of the bucket. “Think we need more popcorn?”

“How are - how long are we going to be here?” Cas asks, his eyes wide.

He thinks Dean hears the note of panic in his voice. “Um, the movies end around 8, but we - we don’t have to stay the whole-”

“ _14 hours?_ ”

“Well, more like 13 and a half, but the breaks and everything-”

Cas has to take a second to mentally prepare himself for an all-nighter. He’s not fully sure he’ll make it through the night, but he resolves to do his best to try.

6 hours later, he feels like Yoda is speaking directly to him.

“Do or do not, there is no try.”

...

It’s 8:20 and Cas thinks he’s very possibly dead. When they step out of the theater and the light hits them, Dean actually shrieks.

“That was insane,” he says, once they’re in the relative shade of the Impala.

Cas still feels like he’s on the Millenium Falcon. “Have you ever done that before?” He asks. Dean’s eyes look slightly glazed; Cas isn’t sure that he should be driving right now, but he doesn’t say anything.

Dean shakes his head. “Fourteen fucking hours, man, there’s a limit to how many times you can survive that. Did you like it?”

“More than I’d expected, yes. I feel like my vision is fading, though.”

Dean squints at the road. “Yeah, me too.”

He doesn’t see Cas’ look of alarm.

Dean drops Cas off at home, where they say dazed goodbyes and Cas stumbles into his house, blearily apologizes to his mother for being out all night, then crawls into bed and passes out, face down.

Before sleep takes him, he smiles into his pillow. He is _so_ in love with Dean Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 am single's valentine's day present for all you lovely romantics!
> 
> i figure since dean would be at the same level of russian understanding that i'm currently at, the extremely basic conversations are realistic. please please let me know if there are any weird mistakes/translations. spasibo! 
> 
> one more chapter to go, guys :D


	4. this is how it translates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just in case: 'da' means 'yes' in russian! (:

Legs sliding against Castiel's, tangled together, the soft rub of friction across his skin.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Dean breathes as Cas ruts down against him. "Fuck."

Cas' breath escapes him, fanning out across Dean's flushed face. Dean's eyelashes flutter, his soft lips parting as Cas leans down to his  mouth and -

"Fuck, never needed to see that. Man, you need to get some."

As Cas comes back to himself, he realises that he's lying on his stomach, his hips still grinding into the bed beneath him. He stops the motion, but that doesn't help the heavy ache settled in his gut.

Gabe, silhouetted in the doorway, shakes his head. "Mom's putting dinner on the table in t minus 7 so you better finish up quick and get your horny ass downstairs."

Cas growls at him. "Tell her I'm not hungry."

"No can do, brah," Gabe says, already pulling the door closed. "She's still getting over you staying out all night without permish."

Cas buries his face into his pillow and groans. This isn't the first time he's had this kind of dream, waking up panting and embarrassed with Dean on his mind; sometimes it hurts to come back to a reality where Dean doesn't love him like that, but then Dean will text a funny cat picture or 13 different emojis explaining the depth of his love for pie and Cas can almost pretend that he's fine with how it is.

His mother goes easy on him, doesn’t grill him nearly as hard as she could. The worst question he fields is whether or not they used a condom: Cas chokes on his spaghetti before he explains that there were not, nor will there ever be, any sexual encounters between himself and Dean Winchester. He’s still not sure she believes him.

Cas lets her guilt him into cleaning up after dinner, but as soon as the last plates are in the dishwasher, he trudges back upstairs and into his bed. He’s still tired, no matter the past 8 hours he spent sleeping. He fights the urge to pass out again for a few hours, alternating instead between his history textbook and his physics homework.

The papers wrinkle when he falls asleep on top of them.

…

“Wrong window, dipshit. One to the right.”

“Ah shit, thanks, man.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep the sex noises down.”

“You’re seriously related?”

“Fuck off, asswad.”

_Plink!_

_Plink!_

Cas opens his eyes slowly, blinking awake from the strange dream he’d been having about Gabe and Dean meeting.

_Plink!_

He frowns. It sounds like -

_Plink!_

At his window?

He throws his covers off and crosses his room, his path illuminated only by the soft moonlight.

_Plink!_

It’s Dean, standing in the middle of Cas’ backyard. As soon as he notices Cas in the window, he waves and flashes a smile that Cas can see from up here.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, once he’s figured out how to get his window open. Not that this isn’t pleasant, finding Dean throwing pebbles like they’re recreating Romeo and Juliet, but Cas is pretty sure he was smack dab in the middle of some life-saving REM sleep and he can’t quite shake off the grogginess.

“I needed to talk to you,” Dean says.

Cas squeezes his eyes shut for a long moment. “Right now?”

“Well, I figured-”

His patience evaporates as soon as he catches sight of the time on his alarm clock. “It’s two in the morning, Dean.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Can you just come down here real quick and then I’ll go?”

Cas heaves a monstrous sigh but heads to his closet, searching blindly for a hoodie that will cover his bare torso.

“Cas?”

“One fucking second,” Cas mutters, but it clearly doesn’t travel down to Dean.

“Ya tebya lyublyu, Cas,” Dean says then, loudly, with a desperate edge to his voice.

Cas ignores the tingles in his stomach that always come when Dean says those words. “Hold on, Dean,” he says, with more force this time. He doesn’t really think a momentary delay was worth a ‘fuck you,’ but then again, Dean’s always been impatient.

“What it really means. Ya tebya lyublyu. I know, Cas.” Cas freezes, his head stuck somewhere in the armpit of his sweatshirt. _No._ Dean clears his throat. “Come on, man, please come down.”

“I’ll be right - just, uh, one second.”

He struggles his way into the hoodie, his mind completely blank. He wants to panic - he thinks he is, actually, maybe this empty buzzing in his ears is panic - but he feels his legs moving of their own accord, carrying him to the front door with a gracefulness he doesn't feel.

Castiel thinks that he would like to die right now. Dean's going to gingerly put a hand on his shoulder, keeping Cas at arm's distance, and then tell him as softly as possible that he's not what Dean's been looking for, that it's sad, really, that this is what he's been doing with his time, playing stupid lovesick tricks on his friends. Cas hovers there by the door, forcing himself to breathe, breathe, breathe.

Dean is waiting on the porch when Cas finally opens the door.

"I'm sorry," Cas says, and he's clenching his jaw so tightly that it hurts. There's never been anyone who has meant as much to Cas as Dean does. "I thought it would be funny." _But it is so clearly not._

Dean searches Castiel's eyes. It's all Cas can do not to break his gaze.

"I told Sammy you were teaching me Russian and he wanted to hear something and that was all I could think of, and I told him I couldn't tell him what it meant - cause, you know, my parents'd kill me, but the smart ass looked it up and - and apparently Charlie knew the whole time, did you know?"

Dean's teeth keep worrying his lip, pulling it into a deeper and deeper red.

Cas frowns. "Charlie knew?"

"Apparently she thought it was cute," Dean said, his frown matching Castiel's.

They stand there, frozen in time, while Cas tries to build up the courage to lie one more time and say that it was only a joke, nothing more.

"Please tell me you meant it," Dean says finally, his voice cracking. His eyes are bright, so reflective that Cas can see his own pale face in them. "I had to see you, I had to know, cause you're - I really like you, is all, and this is - this is stupid, I'm sorry I woke you up, I'll just..." Dean turns, a terrible, wavering smile on his face, but before he can walk away, Cas reaches out and gets a grip on Dean's jacket.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself. "It's when the sun rises in the morning and the stars are still shining."

Dean stops and looks back, his brow furrowed.

"Your 'vibe,'" Cas says, his hand leaving Dean's jacket in favor of the finger quotes. "The skies. I see your eyes in the sunlight through the treetops and your freckles in the constellations. You are..." Cas pauses, searching for the next word in the love letter he's been writing in his head for months. "You are my heavens."

It sounds ridiculous now that he says it out loud, but the way Dean's hands feel on his face when Dean lurches forward, into Cas' air; that's not so ridiculous. And the taste of Dean's warm lips, soft against Castiel's; nothing short of angels singing.

He closes his eyes after a few moments, centering his entire being in the electric point of contact between them, in the sparking movement of their mouths together. It feels strange, wonderful, nothing like getting ambushed by Meg Masters in the third grade.

Dean eventually pulls back, his thumbs still settled against Cas' cheekbones. "So...da?"

Cas leans in again, seeking Dean's lips. "Da," he breathes.

They stand there, sealed together over the threshold of Cas' house, until Cas realises in some faraway part of his functional brain that it's almost cold, that this could be so much better somewhere else.

He breaks away just long enough to ask, "Would you like to come inside?"

Dean nods, clings to Cas as they retreat into the house. Cas closes the door before he leads Dean upstairs, bound together by their hands.

They're quiet, almost, except for when Cas pushes Dean up against his bedroom wall and kisses him furiously, his mouth full of all the pining he's suppressed over the course of their friendship; and then there's the low moan that escapes Dean as they drop onto the bed and his hands find Cas' hair; but Cas is pretty sure no one hears his soft laughter against Dean's neck when Dean's hands slip under his sweatshirt, skimming along all of Cas' ticklish spots; and at least Dean keeps his voice down when they slow their movements and he uses his breath between kisses to tell Cas how in love he is.

"I walked into lunch that day and you were sitting there, at my old table," (Dean tastes like he buoyed his confidence with a slice of apple pie before he came over). "And then it didn't matter that nobody else showed up" (He does something with his tongue that makes Cas' breath vanish). "Your fuckin' eyes, Cas, ya tebya lyublyu. Ya tebya lyublyu."

Cas whispers it back until the air is saturated with heady promises. The kissing is put on hold until they can get their smiles back under control.

They fall asleep like that, wrapped up in each other, Cas still half on top of Dean and Dean with his hands splayed across Cas' shoulderblades.

...

Cas wakes up to warm green eyes and freckles, blurry so close to his face.

"Hello, Dean," he says, his voice rough with sleep.

"Heya, Cas."

They lay there in content silence for a while, the sun breaking over the bare skin of Castiel's legs. Cas can't even panic that the window's now closed - his mother, he realises, is a saint.

"Fuck," Dean says suddenly, his face creasing as if he's in pain. "You had me telling Ash I loved him."

Cas snorts. "You thought I said 'fuck you' to my mom."

Dean makes a displeased noise. "That really should have been more obvious," he says.

"I can't believe Charlie knew," Cas says, and abruptly he's struck with the realisation that they'll have to tell everyone, sooner or later. He's not sure how that will go over, or who knows about their respective sexualities (except for Charlie, who has proven time after time after time that she really does know everything).

"Well, I can't believe she didn't tell me," Dean grumbles. "I would've done this a hell of a lot sooner."

Cas murmurs his assent, but his mind is straying to other things - namely, Dean, lying below him. He wants very much to close the distance between them, but there's something about last night that doesn't completely feel real.

Dean, apparently, has no such qualms. He doesn't taste like apple pie anymore - Cas finds he's not terribly bothered by morning breath - but the fluttery wingbeats in Cas' chest are the same as they were last night, the same crackling fireworks, the same rock and roll music. 

He knows that at some point, they'll have to leave the comfort of the bed; that Cas will have to look his mother in the eye and explain that just because Dean slept over doesn't mean they had sex; that school tomorrow will be an adventure of its own; but right now, Cas is losing himself in Dean.

It turns out that love translates more directly than he expected.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had some killer writer's block on this last chapter so sorry for the delay {i rewrote it a few times & am still not happy but have a go at it}.   
> fun fact: the neato onion dome cathedrals in Moscow are actually cultural remnants of the Byzantine empire, located roughly in modern-day Turkey. Since Byzantine came from the eastern half of the Roman empire and Russia took great influence from the Byzantine empire, in some ways, Russia can indirectly be considered Roman in origin :D  
> anyway, spasibo [thank you] for reading!  
> stay classy, san diego.


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